Rules are Condoms: An Imperfect Metaphor

I used to love rules. Rules, when my life was very completely out of my control, helped me make sense of things. I had rules for who I’d date and what I’d do with them and when. I had rules for who could do what to me and under which circumstances. I had rules about rules, and I was really great about closing loopholes in rules so that I would know exactly what to expect from whom and when.

I clung to the fantasy of a 24/7 D/s relationship. The idea of someone else making the decisions for me and absolving me of the need to willingly take care of myself appealed to me in the wake of my husband’s unexpected death and the realization that I’d lost my entire identity in that relationship.

And you know what? I don’t fault myself for that. It was my coping mechanism, and it worked for a while.

I didn’t know who I was, or who I wanted to be. All I knew was that there was too much stuff for me to carry by myself. I felt I would never be unearthed from beneath its heavy burden. As such, I was attracted to the “fixer” types. The “daddy” types of nurturers who wanted to help me get better. The ones who would set the rules down with the intention of moving me past my hangups and phobias.

And over time, they started having results.

I stopped being afraid of making decisions for myself, and graduated to just not liking it. I started to realize that I was entrusting some pretty important (and some not so important) decisions into the hands of people who weren’t particularly good at taking care of themselves, much less others. I began to understand that our dynamics had shifted – because I’d gone from the bird with a broken wing who needed a cage to be transported safely from point A to point B, to a fully-healed bird ready to take flight – were it not for the owner who kept clipping my wings.

The rules no longer felt like they were being set to help me. They felt like they were being set to control me, and I no longer wanted to be under that 24/7 type of control.

The rules were condoms.

The rules I put on myself and those I allowed to be put on me were an imperfect attempt to protect myself from ….whatever was out there. Just like condoms, the only way to truly be safe is abstinence; and I wasn’t willing to be kink-abstinent anymore.

Now I’m in a relationship with only one rule: Honesty. Everything else between us is more of a request. We’ve got a 24/7 love and trust dynamic. The D/s part is significantly more fluid.

I see people talk about setting “rules” for their partners to follow …especially when they’re opening up to some form of non-monogamy for the first time. Things like “My partner can sleep with whomever, but no emotions,” or “no sleepovers,” or “not in our home,” or “anything goes but kink is only with me,” or “I’m the only one they can use this term of endearment with.”

It’s a condom. These rules are meant to control your exposure to potential harm, but they’re not foolproof. Try to make a rule that your partner will never develop feelings for a sexual partner and be prepared to find yourself on the business end of a Klingon pain stick.

If you want to feel the full spectrum of sensation in your relationship once adequate trust has been established, then it might be time to assess the value of loosening up some of the rigidity of those relationship rules.

It might be time to explore the flexibility of allowing your partner to take flight, and see how they still come back to you – again, and again.

And if they don’t?

If you’d be happy with the bird in the cage whose wings you gotta keep clipping, then you do you.

I wouldn’t be, neither as owner nor bird.

Tops and Strength and Vulnerability: a post-GRUE post-mortem post

Let’s get organized…..Here’s what I want to accomplish in this essay:

1) To share my thoughts on a recent discussion in which I both observed and later participated on the subject of Tops/Dominants and vulnerability

2) To explore my own thoughts on “strength” and “weakness” as it pertains to the concept of vulnerability and/or the exposure of said vulnerability.

3) To offer suggestions on how someone on the topside might find comfortable and meaningful ways to express their vulnerabilities without losing what it is that helps define that role for them.

Here’s what I do NOT want to accomplish in this essay:

1) To share personal information about real people who participated in the discussion without their consent, or make them feel like what they shared was not done so in a safe environment where it would not come back to hurt them. To avoid this, I will speak mostly in the abstract; but if you were there and you recognize your words and you want to help clarify, you are welcome to do so publicly or privately as it suits you.

2) To make someone feel like if they cannot or will not expose their vulnerability it makes them a bad person, so if you’re reading this and you think “nope, I can’t do what she’s suggesting,” that’s okay. You don’t gotta. I’m not the boss of you or the leader of the planet. Yet.

3) To tell anybody how to live their life. See above.

And one more thing…

What I inferred from the discussion may not be what the person speaking had truly intended to convey. On a couple of points, my partner (who also sat in on a large part of the discussion), picked up different messages than I did from the same person’s comments. Therefore, I’m not saying my interpretation is the be all and end all to what was discussed, so take this for what it’s worth. An incomplete attempt to understand a concept I do not have personal experience with as a Top; but I do as a person who is very much in control of her own understanding of her wants and needs, if not those of anybody else.

On to the meat of it…

Over the weekend I attended the Los Angeles GRUE. This is my third time attending this annual event, and in many ways it was the best one yet.

I participated in more discussion sessions this time than in hard-skill types of sessions. So, while last year I spent a lot more time in rope than I did this year; this year, I spent a lot more time engaging with people than last time.

And that’s pretty cool.

One of the earlier sessions during the course of the day was a discussion of the vulnerability of dominants. At the top of the discussion the person who’d organized the session asked for people to only speak if they were doing so from the perspective of a Top/Dominant; and to hold off on offering perspectives from the bottom. I completely understood the purpose for that request and myself and may of the other “bottom only” types in the room gave the rest their space to speak.

(Thankfully, after some time had passed, the discussion leader opened up the discussion to everyone in attendance and there were some really great insights brought up by the bottoms in the room who’d remained silent up to that point).

The big takeaways I had from the Tops only portion of the discussion were as follows:

1) A significant portion of the vulnerability a top feels stems from the idea that they find it uncomfortable to express needs. I want to say it was mostly emotional needs, but i think there were physical needs as well that they did not feel comfortable addressing with their bottoms.

2) Another portion of the vulnerability stems from the cognitive dissonance of being a sadist, for example – of recognizing that somewhat frightening part of you that gets off on hurting someone else, and trying to reconcile that enjoyment with what you know to be “right” or “wrong.”

3) This is the part that might have been up to interpretation – what I was hearing was that some of the tops felt like they couldn’t be as open about not “having all the answers” or not “being in complete control” of every situation. They felt the need to hide their vulnerabilities because it weakened them or glaringly exposed their inability to control all things.

A while back I know I wrote something about finding the strength in exposing my vulnerabilities. I can’t find it, though I found bits and pieces in other writings that support that notion. I recall I went on a date quite a while ago, after which I received a text from him that said that something about my vulnerability making him want to jump up and protect me from anything or anybody that may want to hurt me.

He saw my vulnerability as a weakness he wanted to protect and defend. I saw it as a strength that could draw in an army of protectors. And, of course, with great power comes great responsibility; so I mitigated the temptation to take advantage of that power by attempting to solve my own problems before asking for help.

But I also am able to recognize when I do need help to solve a problem, and am quite capable of “exposing my vulnerability” by asking for that help when it’s appropriate.

I don’t believe that makes me weak. I actually thing it is a show of strength that I am capable of opening myself up to rejection by asking for help.

People have needs. Take away the labels of top or bottom or switch or whatever being a “dominant” means to you and you are a person who has needs. The people who love and care about you are invested in helping you get your needs met.

It is very likely that the people who love and care about you are not mind-readers. Some may be highly intuitive and may be able to make you feel like you’re a really good communicator; but in the end – if there is something you need that you’re not getting, one of two things have happened: 1) you are not asking for it, or 2) the person you asking it from doesn’t want to or cannot give it to you.

I feel like this is the part where a few caveats must be explained: 1) the way one interacts with a long-term or intimate partner is different than the way things go down with a play partner or someone in a one-off situation. Most of my examples and analogies are more in line with how I think long-term relationships work, over pick-up play situations. Also, 2) I have a very clear-in-my-head differentiation between a want and a need; so when I say “need” I am talking about things without which a relationship suffers.

So, let’s take the second takeaway as an example…the cognitive dissonance. That thing that makes you feel vulnerable when you admit to yourself that hurting someone else just made you wet.

I don’t experience this. What I know of this feeling is purely through having heard from many people and empathizing with the feelings they have expressed. On more than one occasion, people to whom I’ve bottomed for or submitted to have been the ones to tell me that these feelings exist.

One very specifically told me what he needed from me. He told me he needed me, as the person he just got off on hurting, to absolve him of his guilt by letting him know that I enjoyed it. That I wanted it. To tell him that he was not an evil person for wanting to do this to me nor for enjoying having done it to me.

That was a very vulnerable thing for this very domly dom person to admit to me, and it did not take away from his ability to exert his control over me (when that was our dynamic). In fact, from my point of view, it strengthened his control because he exposed his humanity to me; and I was able to trust more that there would not be unexplained passive aggressive retaliation toward me for his negative feelings because he’d been honest with me about how he processed what he does.

To be honest – what killed that relationship was when he STOPPED being honest with me about his vulnerabilities and he started behaving in passive aggressive, retaliatory, and explosive ways to our disagreements. I lost my ability to trust him with my emotions when I felt like he couldn’t trust me with his anymore.

I don’t think there’s a “solution” to cognitive dissonance. I think the best we can hope for is acceptance and coping. Similarly, I don’t think one needs to “fix” vulnerability. I think the better option is to lean in to it, expose it, and accept the consequences, whether positive or negative.

As a bottom, that’s kind of our jam. When we are hit, it hurts. But for masochists, we’ve found a way to lean into that pain and transform it into something our brains find pleasurable. By virtue of what we do, we place ourselves in vulnerable positions for fun and profit, and we get a ton of enjoyment, catharsis, and in some cases, growth from it.

As a top, you might also be able to harness the power of vulnerability by exposing yourself to the potential to be disappointed, let down, or ….wrong.

The example I gave as a concrete step to take to open oneself up to their vulnerability is something I do all the time and have written about on several occasions. When I am having a negative feeling, I dig down into it until I understand what is causing it. Until I know what it is that I want or need from someone else that I am not getting that is causing this negative reaction. And then, I tell my partner what I want or need from him.

So, I text him and say “I’m feeling kind of down. Can you please say something nice to me?”

I always get a response. The response is never no. Not with this partner. I’ve had two partners in the past that had rejected my request. They are no longer partners.

Let’s say, (and this is another real example), that I’m starting to feel a little down because my partner doesn’t hit the love button on my fet photos very often. I notice he does with his other partners, but not mine and it makes me sad.

What is that really about, because the comparison to his other partners isn’t fair. The reality is that I know he finds me attractive and I don’t need him to hit a button on a photo on social media to know this to be the case. And yet, I’ve gotten into a situation where I’m feeling down because he’s not doing it, and to further the feedback loop, I want him to do it without my having to tell him to.

That’s where you get into that mind-reading thing. If you’re not getting something you want or need out of someone else, the two reasons are that they either don’t know you want it, or don’t want to give it to you.

So, what am I doing by not telling him what I want? I’m trying to hide from him that something hurts because I want him to intuitively know that it hurts and fix it without my having to tell him. He doesn’t, ’cause he’s not a mind reader, and I just keep on being butthurt because there’s no resolution to this problem through the power of magic.

There is, however, a resolution through the power of communication.

Now, if you think that it’s easy to tell your partner you want public validation of his attraction to you, believe me, it’s not. I processed this shit in the poly chat group for days before I felt comfortable bringing it up with him directly. It was really hard to admit that I wanted this from him; but there was no solution to the problem that didn’t involve my directly telling him so.

Guess what he did?

He loved a couple of my pictures.

And every once in a while, when he does do this without my having to remind him that I want it, it feels really good.

Does that mean I’ve never had to bring it up again? Naah. This comes up. It is what it is. It never means he doesn’t love me or that I don’t make his dick hard. It means that there’s a part of me that wants the public validation of that fact once in a while. By exposing that truth, I took away its power to make me sad.

That’s not a top/bottom thing. This could easily have gone the other way. I might be a top who wants her bottom to like my pictures once in a while and not want to have to order them to do it. I might let it make me feel sad, or become passive aggressive in my behavior toward them because I think that by saying “I want your feedback when I post sexy pictures” means that the feedback isn’t genuine.

At the root of this example is the knowledge that my fear doesn’t stem from any ideation that he’s not attracted to me; but from a place of feeling like he doesn’t want to publicly acknowledge my place in his life. Again – that’s not a top/bottom thing. That’s a relationship thing, and more specifically, that’s a phi thing.

So, something to think about – if you struggle with exposing your vulnerability; start small. Start by not expecting your partner to read your mind when something is nagging at you. Start by figuring out what behavior you want from them, and ask them for it.

Another, much less exposing example is the difference between saying “Brrr….I’m cold.” and “Darling, can I borrow your sweater?” If you’re not getting what you want from your partner by announcing that you feel cold; then follow up with the direct ask. And if your partner says no, then …well, now you know what kind of person they are.

I think that’s all I have for now. I mean, there is so much more but those were the main points of what I wanted to accomplish with this writing. I welcome any continued discussion that comes out of this, though I can’t promise to be very participatory in it until I get home in a few hours.

If you ever have an opportunity and the means to attend a GRUE in your local area…

I highly recommend it. For reals, yo.

Oh, and one last thing. In my search for whatever writing I’d done in the past that had to do with vulnerability, I came across this bit of erotica I’d written a while back. I think it’s a subtle portrayal of how the Top/Sadist/Dominant’s attempts to hide or mitigate his vulnerabilities served only to delay the gratification of a truly deep and personal connection with a potential partner.

November Dribbles: Perfect Circle

Someone over on FetLife created a November Dribble/Drabble challenge.  A drabble is a story made up of exactly 100 words (title not included in this version of the challenge).  A dribble is exactly half that – a story set in 50 words.

The challenge is to complete either one drabble a day or one dribble every two days (as telling stories in fewer words can be more challenging).

I didn’t catch on to the challenge until November 7th, so in order to catch up, I posted three dribbles in the morning, and a drabble later at night.

Here are the dribbles.  Next post is the drabble.

#NovemberDribbleDrabble


Perfect Circle (Part 1)

It had been a stressful week, but not unexpectedly so. “Will you have the energy to do anything later?” he’d asked. She replied confidently that she would. “I want you to fuck me so hard I forget my name.”

“Oh, I’ll remind you your name, whore.” he replied.


Perfect Circle (Part 2)

They sat in the theatre, exactly 1127 seats, most filled. Comedians traipsed across the stage in measured order. The music began; he ran his warm hand gently up her bare arm. The music, crowd, and stress dropped away. For the first time in weeks, she felt still and silent again.


Perfect Circle (Part 3)

“Please, please, please!” Her cries were muffled by the palm of his hand, else echoing through hotel room walls. He’d pounded her into orgasm after orgasm earlier, but now forced her tortured restraint. As her pleas reached critical mass, he growled, “What’s your name?”

Whore,” she responded breathlessly.

Permission granted.

Watching a “bad” Dom in action

Warning: This post is about Dancing With the Stars, and while it does not include spoilers on who was eliminated this week, it does describe the dynamics between two of the couples on the show through this week’s performance.

Derek was my favorite. I was glad when he was back because I love his choreography, and I love the way he moves, and I love the way he always wins.

But this time, Derek didn’t get paired with the same kind of partner. He’s frequently paired with partners you might consider a challenge, like the heavier ones, or the ones with a disability you’d think would make it impossible for them to dance; but then their confidence and tenacity and drive are amazing and they make it far in the competition.

But this time he got paired with someone who is challenging in her own way.

She doesn’t believe in herself.

They’re doing something new this season; or at least, something I don’t remember them doing in past seasons. During the results shows, they’re showing more of the behind-the-scenes stuff, including stuff said that didn’t make the show edit – like the stuff caught on live mics during the dances or right after that are usually muted out during the live shows.

And I’m seeing a side of Derek with Marilu that is making me think that he’s a bad Dom.

He blames her when things go wrong. She’s a 64 year-old actress who has trained all of SEVEN WEEKS to work with a highly-acclaimed, award-winning professional dancer who’s been training his whole life.

In these last few episodes, they’re showing him being a bit of a douchebag to her, like losing his patience and outright blaming her for a low score. Last week, she had a fall and when you watch the footage, it looks like he pushed her pretty hard. Then in this week’s package, she says she felt like she was pushed.

It almost seemed like he’s trying to sabotage their scores because he wants out of the losing team, as though dancing with someone who isn’t showing improvement is going to ruin his reputation.

But here’s the thing – the way he keeps undermining her confidence is the REASON she’s not improving. What really struck me this week is how they showed him talking about his plan to build her confidence up. All he did was tell her that none of her mistakes mattered.

That’s not how to help someone improve! When someone you’re collaborating with makes mistakes, you find constructive ways on working with them to improve their performance. Telling them their mistakes don’t matter anymore is a signal that you’ve let your frustration build up to the point where you’ve given up on them. That their improvement is no longer a priority for you.

This week another pro, Val, got emotional when he expressed his pride over his partner Laurie’s pure joy, passion, and olympian-level drive to soak up the knowledge of dance he’s spent his own life learning. To see the big, bad-ass Russian cry the way he did came off very much with a sense of the deep, paternal-like love he seems to have developed for his young partner.

A week or two ago, they had a moment where he was pushing her really hard and she pushed back. He was getting frustrated and she called him out, reminded him that she’s doing her best and yelling at her when she doesn’t get something right away doesn’t help her learn it faster. He calmed down, apologized and they went on to nail their performance.

So this week, when he hides his face with a hat for a while while the cameras are on him and he’s really breaking into the cry, there’s no question that he feels exposed in showing his own vulnerability within this relationship. I think it’s beautiful. Their performance brought tears to my eyes, as it did the judges.

I know it’s just a silly dancing show and it has nothing to do with kink. But very frequently as I’ve been watching this season, I’ve noticed parallels to BDSM with these two couples. Derek and Marilu’s relationship seems toxic and unfulfilling. She’s trying so hard to please him, and his displeasure is palpable; whereas Val and Laurie’s relationship seems very much like the “daddy” types here (non-sexually speaking) in the way that he shows vulnerability, emotion, and pride and even awe in her progress.

But here’s the thing – in seasons past, when Derek has been with the winning type and Val has been with the challenging member of the cast, their attitudes were reversed. I always thought Val was the asshole and Derek was the shining star.

Which just goes to show that the problem in some relationships may not be the individuals within them, but the pairing itself.

Two final thoughts:

In googling Marilu Henner to ensure I was spelling her name correctly, i saw an article in which Derek defends himself by saying that the editing has been doing him a disservice this season; that in fact, he and his partner had a deep heart-to-heart talk where they aired out some things and hugged it out, but that wasn’t shown. I know that editing plays a big role in perceptions of things, so all of this is really based on what I’ve seen on the show and not what the reality probably is.

And secondly: this was my favorite dance of the night, and it’s sexy – so even if you don’t watch the show, watch this:

Priorities

I’m falling.

I was laying on my back on some sort of exercise bench that was rickety and only long enough to support me from ass to shoulders. My head was hanging backward off one end, and I was struggling to find a position or some leverage that would stabilize my legs without aggravating the highly-invasive crotch rope that was digging into my ass and cunt.

I’m falling. I thought, but all I could muster out loud was a minor squeak.

My arms were bound in front. My everything was bound in front, with his rope crisscrossing to contain my shoulders, arms and chest in a firm and constant embrace.

He was standing behind me. When I opened my eyes I could see the black of his jeans as he leaned over my body to grope and touch and prod. The bench wiggled again and I squirmed to compensate. Without the use of my arms, i couldn’t brace myself for a fall. I could get my wrists out of the cuff, though, if I had to. Free up enough of my arms to grab hold of something.

I looked up again. I became aware of the closeness of his crotch to my face. In my struggle to find balance and composure I’d not noticed the physical position I’d placed myself in.

By the time his fingers had traveled down to unfasten his belt buckle, I’d forgotten about falling. My mind became of singular purpose. I watched with growing anticipation.

I’m choking.

Instinctively, I pulled my wrists from out of their binds and reached around to grab his thighs from behind. Not to brace myself.

But to pull him deeper inside.

One Lucky Whore

When I miss him, I ask if I can “see” him and he sends me a selfie.

I was still three days away from seeing him again. He sent me a selfie. He was smiling in it.

“is that smile for me?” I asked him.

“The smile. The photo. The excitement.”

I grinned. “Oh, but I do love pictures of your excitement,” I replied smugly.

“Well, there’s an idea….” he started. “Seems like I should deny you the sight of it for a bit.”

“I’ve been denied a week already!” I threw in a shocked face emoticon for good measure.

“Are you ready for me to be nasty?” he asked.

I had no idea if I was ready. Two weeks ago, he wouldn’t let me kiss him until after I’d fixed dinner, we ate, and I’d washed the dishes, then kissed every inch of his body before he let me touch his lips.

“Yes?” I responded.

“You will not touch, taste, or see my cock until I pull it out of your wet hole and come on your face, my beautiful whore.”

swoon


I got out of the shower around 6:45. Plenty of time, I thought. He usually arrives at my house around 7:30.

“Trying to decide if I should wear makeup for you to ruin” I texted him.

“Heh, sure, do it.”

“Sweet,” I replied. “Whore it is. After I go to the market.”

“I’m here.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Here?” Did he mean he was at my house already, or that he was still at work?

“Your house.”

He was early. Forty five minutes early! I hadn’t cleaned my vibrator, picked up the laundry, brushed my teeth…I hadn’t scooped the litter box! I was still wearing a bathrobe!

He let himself into my house as I was brushing my teeth. He was on his way up the stairs when I stepped out into the corridor outside my bedroom wearing only my bathrobe. “You’re early! I didn’t have time….!” I stammered. He smiled and pulled me in for a kiss.

One kiss led to another, and soon I was naked and leaning back on the bed with my legs spread and his fingers probing my wet cunt.

After an orgasm, he stepped back. “Well…? Go whore yourself up.”

I nodded dreamily and went to the bathroom to put on some makeup. I did it quickly – heavy mascara and eyeliner, light on the rest. Then grabbed this very slutty dress that I’d picked out for the evening. About 20 pounds ago it looked hot. I’d worn it to the dungeon about a year ago….but not since.

But he loves my body and always makes me feel sexy. For him I’ll walk around naked or in a bikini and I still know he wants me.

He’s laying on the bed when I finish. I walk over to him and smile. He gets up and pulls me into a kiss. Then forces me to bend over the bed kicks my feet apart at the ankle.

He fingers me until I come two more times. He pulls me up by the hair and, woozy, I lean against him for support.

“I’m gonna go change so I’m not wearing cargo shorts,” he said.

“Wait..,” I say, looking up, “Where are we going?”

“To the market,” he replied.

I’d forgotten about the market.  “Can I change?” I asked..

“No.” The gleam in his eye….

Fuck.


I’m dressed like a whore in a too-tight, too-short dress, wearing leather knee high boots and no panties at my upscale, suburban neighborhood market. As we’re heading over, he points out what’s on the shopping list…

Cucumbers. Japanese Eggplant. Condoms….

FUCK.


 

I was bent over the foot of the bed, knees on the padded bench. He fingered me roughly. Spanked me a lot. Shoved my face into the mattress, then pulled it back up by my hair.

He walked around to the side of the bed and leaned over to bring his face down to my level.

“You are my whore…” he said, searching my eyes.

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.” I am.  I always am.

“Tonight, I’m going to treat you like one.”

My heart skipped a beat.

True to his word, I never saw his cock. I heard the swoosh of the belt, and was grateful for the long warm-up that made it possible for each strike to land hard, loud, and solid on my ass and thighs. He entered me from behind, reaching around to roughly grab my tits and pinch at my nipples. I lost count of my orgasms. I just remember that he told me to close my eyes and keep them closed before he flipped me over onto my back.

By then I was naked except for the boots. He was fucking me so roughly, and so deeply, that was the first time I’ve ever squirted….and the second.

He pulled out of my cunt and crawled up over my body. “Open your eyes,” he ordered.  Just as I complied, I felt his hot come on my chin and neck, then tasted it, followed by the sensation of his plunging his cock into my hungry whore mouth.

When he was finished, he pulled out and leaned down to kiss me, deeply.  “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” I whispered back.


“Do you like coming on my face?” I asked him over breakfast the next morning. Eggs, bacon, and vegetables.

He paused to think, then answered honestly. “I like knowing you enjoy it. It’s not really my preference…”

I smiled. There was a version of me a long time ago that would have been horrified to hear that a lover of mine had done something for me that he didn’t thoroughly enjoy. It’s different with him.

Or maybe I’m different with him.

I recall my soft whisper while still dazed after our morning fuck before breakfast. “I’m the luckiest whore in the world,” I’d said.

And I am. Because I belong to him.

Moments and Context: Part Writing Exercise. Part Smut.

 


A moment without context:

She felt the palm of his hand flatten against the back of her neck as his fingers, entwined in her still-damp hair, grabbed hold and pulled her back. Within seconds, she was on her hands and knees with her face pressed into the cushion – his strong grip holding her down with one hand while the other quietly unfastened his belt.

The same moment with physical context:

She reached forward to touch his face, but once their eyes locked, the heel of her palm met with his chest instead. Cautiously but with intent, she pressed forward until he fell back into the sofa behind him. Her body, as though magnetically connected to his, followed him down in practiced choreography, positioning herself in a kneeling straddle over his lap.

In this position her lips, angled above his, hungered to taste him. She gave in to the hunger, gently at first – leaning down for a kiss. Her hunger grew ravenous, and her kisses deeper and more demanding. His hands caressed their way past her thighs, around her hips, and began their slow, practiced rise up up her back.

She felt the palm of his hand flatten against the back of her neck as his fingers, entwined in her still-damp hair, grabbed hold and pulled her back. Within seconds, she was on her hands and knees with her face pressed into the cushion – his strong grip holding her down with one hand while the other quietly unfastened his belt.

The same moment with emotional context:

He owned her. There they stood, having just parted from a quiet embrace when she looked at this man and a kaleidoscope of passionate memories circulated in her mind’s eye. The memories filled her with raw lust and desire and she felt an instinct to connect with him take control.

She reached forward to touch his face, but once their eyes locked, the palm of her hand met with his chest instead. Cautiously but with intent, she pressed forward until he allowed himself to fall back into the sofa behind him. Not until he’d acquiesced to her advance did she allow the instinct to take full control of her actions. Her body, as though magnetically connected to his, followed him down in practiced choreography, positioning herself in a kneeling straddle on top of him.

In this position her lips, angled above his, hungered to taste him. She gave in to the hunger, gently at first – leaning down for a kiss. Her hunger grew ravenous, and her kisses deeper and more demanding. She, so far gone into her primal state of lust and want, didn’t notice his hands caressing their way past her thighs, around her hips, and begin their slow, practiced rise up up her back.

She became aware again of their juxtaposed roles just as the palm of his hand flattened against the back of her neck and his fingers, entwined in her still-damp hair, grabbed hold and pulled her back. Within seconds, she was on her hands and knees with her face pressed into the cushion – his strong grip holding her down with one hand while the other quietly unfastened his belt.